Don't It Feel Alright
by patientalien
Summary: The start of the Clone Wars and technically being dead aren't enough to stop Granta Omega from continuing to play his twisted games with his favorite victim. And despite being a Knight and General in the Grand Army of the Republic, some enemies are too much for even Anakin Skywalker to handle alone.
1. Chapter 1

**This story contains dark themes including rape, torture, forced addiction, suicidal thoughts/attempts, and other potentially triggering things. It's any of my other fics ramped up 100%. Please keep this in mind.**

 **Over 20k words have been written so far so expect fairly regular updates.**

 **Comments are greatly appreciated.**

* * *

"I saw you die."

The words come out slightly strangled, without the bluster and bravado he has become known for over the course of the War. If this were Grievous, or Dooku, he would know what to expect. He knows what to expect from this foe, too, and the knowledge makes Anakin's skin crawl.

Granta Omega chuckles ruefully, circling him. The man remains unremarkable in the Force, but his physical visage is now marred by a starburst scar that radiates out from his left cheek, across his face, bisecting his left eye and turning it a milky white. Evidence of Obi-Wan's attempt to subdue their enemy. "Did you, really?" Omega asks, voice silky, reaching out to caress a strand of Anakin's hair. "Knight Skywalker," the enigma chuckles. "Master Skywalker, even." Omega positions himself directly within Anakin's admittedly limited range of vision. "You've done well for yourself, haven't you?" This time, the caress is down Anakin's face, the lightsaber burn scar, the place on his neck where his braid used to hang.

"And how is Obi-Wan?" he asks, and Anakin bares his teeth. Always the end game, revenge against his Master, achieved by bringing Anakin low. "Will he come to your rescue now that you are no longer his responsibility? Or will it be your own Padawan?"

The thought that Omega might bring Ahsoka into this sick game sends a jolt of fury down Anakin's spine. The inhibitor around his neck keeps him from manifesting the rage, but he still snarls, "Keep your filthy hands off of her."

Omega rolls his one good eye. "Tsk, tsk, Anakin," he scolds lightly. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." Anakin doesn't like the sound of that one bit, but he knows the more he reacts to the idea of Omega doing anything to Ahsoka, the more tempting the prospect will become, so against every screaming fiber of his being, Anakin stays his tongue on the subject.

He isn't sure what is going to happen. He has an idea, of course, based on experiences he would much rather forget, but familiarity rips through him, a sense of anticipation - a near-excitement, sings through his veins. He'd thought, after Omega's apparent death, he'd gotten over that, but it's back again, crawling under his skin, aching to be satiated. "You're not going to accomplish anything," he snaps. Except Omega already has: Anakin is quietly, privately, coming undone, and though he would never admit it, to Omega or anyone else, he knows it means Omega has already started to weave his web of destruction once more.

His captor chuckles again, drawing a finger down the side of Anakin's face. "I think we both know exactly what I will accomplish," he says, perceptive even without the Force. "And I think I'm tired of this small talk." He gives a predatory smile, made even more sinister by the taut pull of scar tissue. "I suspect you are as well." He reaches up with both hands and unfastens Anakin's belt. Chained as he is, Anakin can merely pull on his bonds while Omega tears away his tabbards and tunic, leaving him bare-chested and feeling exposed. "Well," Omega murmurs. "Our time apart has certainly been kind to you."

He doesn't know what to say to that, to the obvious, appreciative leering. As a Padawan, he would have had a smart comeback, an immediate retort. Now, he has other things to consider: protecting Ahsoka, escape. He's not an impudent teenager any more, but the promise of what Omega has always offered brings back unpleasant sense memories. Instead of speaking, he scowls.

Omega takes his silence as an invitation to reach down the front of his pants, stroking his cock, smirking when, despite himself, Anakin half-hardens. "So you do remember," Omega purrs. "I was afraid you outgrew our little games." He tightens his grip, and Anakin bites back a moan. He can't count on anyone coming to his rescue now; a Knight and Master, he alone is responsible for getting himself out of this mess, which means he needs to keep his mind clear.

With Omega, though, that is never an option, and even as the thought crosses his mind, Omega has withdrawn his hand, wiping it across Anakin's bare chest. He remains silent, crossing the room, and Anakin has to make a conscious effort to tamp down on the sudden rush of craving that courses through his veins. No, he has to fight back, he can't let this happen again because if he does, he might never get away.

A shiver runs down his spine as Omega returns to his side, the familiar and almost-welcome hypo-spray in his hand. It has been years, but something inside Anakin aches yearningly, which jolts him into action, pulling violently against his chains, kicking and pulling and using every ounce of strength he possesses. "No!" he shouts, because he doesn't want this. He never has. This is a physical reaction to a memory of dependence, not true desire, and he needs to get away. He manages to pull one manacle loose from the wall, then the other, but the collar around his neck is making things difficult, his grasp on the Force slippery. He pushes Omega up against the far wall, but it is a mistake: a hiss and a cold burst against his flesh wrist are his only warnings before he and reality part ways.

* * *

Wrists bound behind his back, knees aching from kneeling for so long, Anakin comes back to life with the freezing-cold splash of his head being forcibly dunked in a barrel of water. For a brief moment he is sure he is going to drown, but just as he registers what has happened, he's yanked out again by his hair. "Awake yet?" Omega asks. Anakin shivers, but isn't sure how to form words just yet. Everything feels sluggish, disoriented, the room's angles too sharp, the colors too bright, garish. It hurts his eyes. He blinks. "Good boy," Omega says, stroking back his wet hair. The man's touch feels good, soothing, though Anakin knows he needs to fight again now that he's starting to regain his ability to think. He thrashes weakly, only to have his head and upper shoulders shoved back into the icy water. He almost makes the mistake of breathing in, but manages to remember himself just in time, gasping and coughing when he's unceremoniously pulled out again.

"S-stop," he stammers, teeth chattering, blinking rapidly and trying to clear his blurred, distorted vision. Omega's hands send warm pulses through his body wherever they meet his bare skin - completely naked now, he recognizes vaguely - and he arches towards the touch in spite of himself. "Please." The fact he is begging makes him sick to his stomach. Anakin Skywalker does not beg. He does not grovel. He does not throw himself prostrate before a captor to plead for some kind of reprieve. He is a General in the Grand Army of the Republic, and he does not show weakness.

But Omega isn't a Separatist, isn't an insurgent or bounty hunter. He does not hold to the same rules of engagement, and Anakin knows that while his chances of escaping a Separatist trap are excellent, his chances of wrenching away from Omega's clutches unscathed are far more tenuous. He has no idea how long he has been here already; this is the first time he's been wrenched from semi-consciousness in such a matter, but it's the fifth - maybe sixth - time he's been able to start thinking through the fog. The in-between times are a complete blur of desire and pain and vivid, horrifying hallucinations. He remembers screaming, remembers the sensation of being full - everywhere. Now that his body is no longer completely numb, he can feel bruises, bone-deep. He needs to get away, while he still can. He has the thought each time he comes back to himself - but right now all he can do is beg for a rest. A real one, not drug-induced, though physical craving has him shaking and sweating already.

"Please." He's not sure what he's asking for anymore.

Granta Omega complies anyway, pressing the hypo against his wrist and making his pain disappear.

* * *

Being the apprentice of the Hero With No Fear, panic isn't really part of Ahsoka Tano's training. She understands urgency and worry, but panic has been wiped clean from her consciousness. Still, she feels an unfamiliar and unpleasant fluttering in her chest whenever she thinks about the fact her Master has been missing for over a month, now. She's still not sure how it happened; one minute he was there, and the next he was gone. That's what it had seemed like, at least. The Council has luckily allowed her and Master Obi-Wan to look for him, but she's starting to be afraid that they might never find him. She can't even sense him in the Force, and she knows Master Obi-Wan can't either. "Where are you, Skyguy?" she asks the black vaccuum beyond the cockpit viewport.

Space, of course, doesn't answer.

* * *

"Again."

Anakin shifts into his knees, tilting forward, hands and forearms braced against the cold floor, presenting himself for entry. He grunts slightly as Granta Omega fills him, but he doesn't mind. It's not real, none of this is, really. Just like the snowflakes falling in the periphery of his vision, just like the serpents slithering around his bare arms, the violation isn't real. He goes along with it, because it's easier that way. If he doesn't, the world gets scary.

"Good," he murmurs, tongue thick in his mouth. He's tried to bite it off more than once; it takes up too much space. His mouth tastes like blood. It is good, the taste of blood and the sensation of Omega inside of him, thrusting against his prostate, fingers twined in Anakin's hair. He knows, sometimes, that this isn't right. That he is more than whatever he is now. But memory is a slippery thing, and he's not sure anymore. Omega thrusts deeper, and Anakin moans, guttural and pained. Some things even his medicine can't take away.

In however long he has been here (days and nights blur together and he can never tell anymore), he has learned how to be obedient. He's sure the Masters on the Council would be shocked to see him taking orders, subservient and deferential, but the Council has never whipped him until he bled, has never sprayed him with a high-pressure hose of icy water, for the slightest transgression. They never withheld food and water for days because of his attitude. Most of all, though, they have never held the threat of withdrawal over his head like a guillotine of agony, the unspoken knowledge that Omega can - and will - cut off the supply of drugs that have become Anakin's only salvation in this place if he stepped out of line making him far more docile than mere physical pain.

It makes him sick to his stomach, the idea he has sunk to such an extreme, but this is about survival. He just needs to survive long enough to escape, and he can't think about escape unless his head is clear. At the beginning, that meant in between the doses. Now he finds clear thinking is hard to come by regardless of time or circumstance. Everything twists together, forming new realities, and all there is beyond the veil is pain and mortification.

Even though he knows he is Anakin Skywalker, and knows he is better than this, he gives in at the sound of Omega's voice.


	2. Chapter 2

**Things get worse before they get better.**

 **Comments are always appreciated.**

* * *

Their first and only clue as to Anakin's whereabouts comes in the form of a coded transmission to Master Obi-Wan. They are in the mid-rim, cleaning up a Separatist listening station (the war doesn't end just because her Master is missing), and when Master Obi-Wan sees who the sender is, his mouth becomes a thin line and he retreats into his quarters before viewing the message. He does not invite Ahsoka to watch it with him, and when he emerges looking pale and more shell-shocked than Ahsoka has ever seen, he will not divulge what he has seen. She trots behind him as he makes a bee-line for the Bridge, her heart pounding hard against her ribs because she has never seen Master Obi-Wan so uneasy, has never felt such turmoil in the Force from the normally-serene Jedi Master. "Where are we going?" she asks after the silence is nearly enough to drive her mad.

Obi-Wan does not turn to her, keeps his eyes forward as he continues his quick strides. "Telos," he replies tightly, offering no further explanation.

"What's on Telos?" she prods, hoping he will say that it is Anakin, that he is there and okay, and the stress she senses is because he's just run off without saying where he was going. It's unlikely, wishful thinking, because that isn't like Anakin at all, and if that were the case, Obi-Wan would have just said so.

She can feel the razor-sharp crack of Obi-Wan's strain as he replies, "An old enemy." Which doesn't mean much to her; she's long since learned that her Master and Grandmaster have many enemies.

"And Anakin?" she asks, frowning, jogging to keep up now.

This time Obi-Wan does turn to her, slightly, not breaking his stride. "I certainly hope so," he says, and lapses into silence once more.

* * *

It's hazy and at first Anakin thinks he is still hallucinating, because what he sees just doesn't make sense. Omega has returned from a brief respite, carrying with him two thick, sharp metal hooks and offering a smile that would look more at home on a krayt dragon. "Skywalker," he says, and his tone is curious. Anakin struggles to stand, but his head spins and his stomach lurches and every part of him feels liquid. He sinks back down as Omega comes closer.

"Whassat?" he hears himself say; between the jaw stiffness from Omega repeatedly and unceremoniously shoving his cock in Anakin's mouth multiple times a day and the sedating effects of the drugs, he's started to have a very hard time keeping his words clear.

Omega's smile widens into a grin. "I want you to live up to your name," he explains, but as far as Anakin is concerned it's a terrible explanation. Omega comes closer, runs a hand through Anakin's filthy hair, and slides a hand up his cock. In anticipation, Anakin's body responds, but Omega merely tsks at him. "Not yet," he scolds

The first hook comes as a complete surprise, entering the flesh of his chest just above his right nipple, sliding through muscle and skin to come out again, the hook dangling now from his chest and blood streaming down his front. It takes a moment for the pain to appear, and by the time it does, the second hook has been positioned beside the first. Anakin stares at Omega; the violation is confusing, and he's still not sure it is real. The pain is, though, but he does his best to ride it out. Soon enough the hypo will come out again and take the worst of the pain away.

He kneels in the center of the room that has become his world these past months (months? He isn't sure entirely), shivering, teeth clenched, hands clasped tightly in front of him, waiting for the next torment. He knows better than to ask for the relief the drugs will bring; the last time he did, Omega withheld them for a day and a half until Anakin felt like he was going to die. He won't make the same mistake.

After what seems like eternity, Omega flips a switch on the wall and a set of thick chains lowers, each with a device at the end designed to attach to the hooks now embedded in Anakin's chest. Omega makes quick work of it, and gives Anakin another smile as he flips the switch again and the chains begin to retract into the ceiling.

At first Anakin isn't sure what is happening, is only aware of pressure and pain and the feel of flowing blood, but then he realizes he isn't touching the ground anymore, that he's hanging suspended by the chains and hooks, that he can hardly breathe. This isn't the floating meditation Barriss Offee practices, this is entirely physical, and for the first time since being taken captive, Anakin feels true and utter hopelessness. He tilts his head back and lets the tears fall.

* * *

Narrowing their search down to Telos is not the immediate solution Ahsoka had hoped it would be. For one thing, it is still an entire planet, and they have nothing besides that to go on. Secondly, as Obi-Wan has pointed out, half the planet belongs to Granta Omega - or at the very least his family, which makes things even more complex. Ahsoka is almost ready to resort to some aggressive negotiations with planetary officials, but Obi-Wan's presence holds her back from displaying some of the less Jedi-like teachings passed down from her Master.

For his part, Obi-Wan is managing to keep his emotions in check, as he always does, while working with a variety of contacts for any kind of clue. He even makes a long, private comm call away from Ahsoka (and like the message he'd received, he does not share the content with her), and that is what seems to turn the tides. "Warehouses in the capital city," he informs her, tucking his comm back in his robes and running a hand over his hair, disheveling it slightly. "I wasn't able to get anything more concrete than that, but it's certainly better than nothing." He sounds tired, like Ahsoka feels. Obi-Wan has known Anakin far longer than she has; they are practically two halves of the same person. Though he's doing well to hide it, she can only imagine how he must be feeling. She knows how she is feeling, at least. Knows too how Anakin would be feeling were roles reversed. Still, Obi-Wan is right and now their search has considerably narrowed. She just hopes that Anakin will still be there when they arrive.

* * *

The pathetic mewling noise is coming from him, Anakin realizes blearily, trying to scrabble at the chains holding him off the ground. He's too weak, too doped up, and his hands can't find purchase so he dangles there, chest heaving because it's become so hard to breathe. He's decided that he is going to die here; no one is coming to rescue him, and Omega is like a spoiled child - once he has broken a toy, he will merely throw it away instead of tending to it.

Anakin knows, somewhere in the recesses of coherent thought, that he is very close to breaking. And since he is Anakin Skywalker, and since he has no desire to leave this galaxy on anything but his own terms, he raises his left wrist to his mouth and bites down. The pain doesn't even register, not past the hurts all over the rest of him. He continues biting, tearing at the flesh, working towards the vein, hitting it finally with a rush of hot blood in his mouth.

He spits onto the floor and lets his arm dangle. Everything starts taking on a hazy glow, better than the high of the drugs, warmer than the dunes back home. He feels his body start to convulse and is dimly aware of hitting the ground with the sounds of flesh tearing and a sickening crack. Because he is Anakin Skywalker, and this is his choice, he closes his eyes.

* * *

The montrals on a Togruta serve many purposes, the most obvious of which is a form of echolocation more sensitive than even the most sophisticated sensor equipment. Ahsoka can tell without anything more than a tilt of her head that the warehouse in front of them, unlike the others they have investigated, is almost entirely empty. "I think it's this one," she murmurs to Obi-Wan, though there is currently no reason to keep her voice down. It's the weight of things, the idea that her Master may be in there and she has no idea why or if he is okay. A prickling sensation down her lekku give her the notion that all is not well, but she could have told herself that weeks ago.

Obi-Wan nods, and slips his lightsaber off his belt. "Be cautious," he warns as she follows suit with her main 'saber. "Granta Omega is a very dangerous man."

The fact Omega has had her Master for months now is testament to that, though Obi-Wan still hasn't seen fit to tell her much about the man, nor about the history the three men share. She hasn't had the heart to press the matter, not yet anyway, not until after she knows Anakin is safe. "I'll be careful, Master," she assures him. She knows she is often compared to her own Master in terms of her reckless streak, but this is different; she won't do anything without the utmost certainty that it won't do more harm to Anakin.

Obi-Wan sounds pained as he responds, "See that you do." This merely strengthens her resolve to get better answers once this is all over, but in the meantime she follows him to a recessed door, reaching out with the Force and all her other senses to try and get a read on what may lay beyond.

Everything in the galaxy has some kind of presence in the Force. Any living being, no matter how endowed with midichlorians, can be sensed, even if it is merely a ripple. Droids, too, to an extent, can be sensed. What Ahsoka feels when she extends her power into the warehouse is a void, a black hole, absolute nothingness where there should be something. "Do you feel that?" she asks.

Obi-Wan's lips press together tighter than she's ever seen them. "It seems we are in the right place after all," he tells her, and waves a hand over the locking mechanism of the door. There is a tight grinding and the door slides open. Still without activating their weapons, the two Jedi enter, Obi-Wan taking the lead; Ahsoka can feel his concentration, his senses seeking out any trace of Anakin.

Ahsoka, though, senses it first: the sound of someone choking on something. It's faint, but she follows the sound to a cordoned-off area, held secure by a locking gate. The choking noise is interspersed by moans now and Ahsoka smashes the lock open with the Force as quick as she can. She knows it is Obi-Wan's place to enter before her, but she can't help darting ahead, recoiling violently as the smell of the place hits her like a physical blow, the pain in the Force making her knees weak. She straightens, determined to focus, and manages to see her Master curled up on the hard duracrete floor, a widening puddle of blood forming around him. Ahsoka activates her comm immediately, summoning the Clone company waiting on standby for just this moment. She kneels beside Anakin, Obi-Wan joining her for a brief moment. "I'm going to look for Omega," he informs her, barely looking at Anakin, choking and sobbing on the floor.

He's gone before Ahsoka can protest - she supposes she understands, but as far as she is concerned, Omega can wait. Anakin needs her. "Master? Skyguy?"

He doesn't respond and then Ahsoka sees the hooks on the floor, is able to make out the trauma to the flesh on Anakin's chest, the violent tearing of his wrist. There are other injuries too, she senses; the backs of his legs are sticky with blood and for the first time it registers that he is completely naked. She winces slightly as the implications of that sink in, and she reaches out a tentative hand.

He won't respond, stays huddled in on himself, inhuman sounds tearing from his throat every so often. "Master, it's me," she attempts. "Say something, please!" He doesn't seem to recognize her voice, and is losing blood fast, so she focuses instead on getting him covered with her cloak, checking his vital signs. "It'll be okay, Master," she murmurs.

"Please... please..." She thinks she hears her Master say, but she's not sure what he's asking for. It feels like forever before the Clones arrive, and Kix and Rex are finally by her side.

"We'll get him evac'd to the shuttle," Kix assures her as he begins his preliminary assessment. "It's all right, General," he says as Anakin tries to arch away from him. Bacta patches are slapped on his chest, a few spots on his legs and face. When Kix gets to the wound on Anakin's arm, he pauses for the briefest moment. "I don't think he thought he was getting out of here," the medic comments without a hint of judgement in his tone.

Ahsoka furrows her brow, not understanding. When she asks, Kix points at the jagged edges of flesh, wrapping it in bacta-soaked gauze as he does. "Teeth marks, Commander. General Skywalker did that one himself."

Ahsoka's stomach drops and she feels like she might throw up; she doesn't have time to think about it right now, she reminds herself. She needs to make sure Anakin makes it back home and then she can think about what has happened and what she will need to do to help him recover. Right now, she needs to get him to the shuttle so she nods tightly. "Let's get him out of here," she orders.

Kix and Rex settle a breathing mask over Anakin's face, slide a backboard under him, lift him together as they've done a dozen times before - but not like this, Ahsoka thinks, following them, protecting their path as they start the first steps of bringing her Master back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Anakin begins the journey home.**

 **Comments are so appreciated.**

* * *

Obi-Wan meets them at the shuttle empty-handed, a deep scowl etching his features. Ahsoka doesn't ask what happened; it's clear the question would not be welcome at the moment. With Kix and Coric tending to Anakin - they'd ushered her out quickly once they'd gotten him settled in the shuttle's small med-bay - Ahsoka takes it upon herself to get them in the air. The sooner they get to Coruscant, the better. "How is he?" Obi-Wan asks, settling into the co-pilot's seat.

Ahsoka grimaces. "I'm not sure," she admits softly. She has some idea, saw the worst of the wounds, but there were others she knows are there, and she has no idea his mental state. "He's really out of it - Kix and Coric are looking him over." She wants to be back there with them, wants her Master to know she's there, to know he has support, but she has a feeling some of what the medics are discovering aren't things Anakin would want her seeing. She'll find out, she'll make sure she does, promises herself that she will be there every moment hereafter for Anakin. He's her best friend in the galaxy, her mentor, and she loves him despite teachings to the contrary (though it would be hypocritical of him or Obi-Wan to scold her on the matter, considering how attached they are to one another). She'll get him through this.

"I see," Obi-Wan replies tightly. "You did well," he adds, almost an afterthought, as if scrounging for something to fill the silence.

Ahsoka finds she cannot take her eyes off the controls; she doesn't care about her own performance, she just cares about getting back to Coruscant. She tries to come up with a response befitting a Jedi Padawan, but she can't, so just says, "Thank you."

* * *

It's cold here, and everything hurts. It's brighter than where he'd been before, but Omega probably just turned the lights up once he realized how badly Anakin has been hurt. Probably preparing to finish the job Anakin couldn't, the usefulness of his plaything gone. He'd thought he'd heard Ahsoka, and at least one Clone, but he's not stupid: he knows he's gone into shock from blood loss and the trauma to his chest, Ahsoka's presence was nothing more than wishful thinking.

Hands probe at his wounds and he tries to slap them away, but his wrists are fastened to the bed frame. "Lemme go!" he demands, not as much strength behind it as he'd like. "I'll... do... 'Ever you..." If he's going to die, if Omega is going to finish him off, he doesn't want to die chained to a bed. With a hard yank to the restraints, he curses whatever had alerted Omega to his suicide attempt - he'd been at peace with it, then, and now he has to fight again and he's not sure he has the strength for it. He can feel the first icy tendrils of withdrawal starting amidst the rest of the discomfort, and he tries pulling again.

"It's all right, General." Omega's cruelty is unimaginable, pitching his voice to sound like Kix's, trying to lull him into a false sense of security. The face Anakin sees when he opens his eyes is Kix's as well, but it's what he wants to see, and he knows his mind is just playing tricks again. "You're safe now, Sir. We're heading home." The hand that had been checking his wounds flattens against his abdomen to try and still him. "Stay calm, Sir."

"Can't you give him anything?" It's another Clone voice, simply a manifestation of Anakin's desire - no, not desire. Need.

"His tox screen is off the charts," Omega replies in Kix's voice, using words Kix would use. "I can't right now." He's pitched his voice to sound sympathetic, apologetic, to fool him. He looks at Anakin from Kix's face. "You'll be all right, Sir."

Realizing that Omega has no intention of dropping the act, Anakin slumps back against the pillows and closes his eyes.

* * *

Ahsoka can hear screaming coming from the medbay, a horrible inhuman sound that makes the sensitive skin on her lekku prickle with unease. It barely sounds like her Master, that voice, the hoarse keening wails that permeate the air of the shuttle. Obi-Wan is in there, and Ahsoka wants to be with him, but her Master's Master had said, "There will be time enough for that," and left her alone in the hallway.

"Nononononono! STOP!" Begging, pleading, and Ahsoka has never felt quite so helpless or anxious in her life. Her Master doesn't beg. He doesn't scream. Whatever the war throws at him, he brushes off like so much dust. His agony in the Force is immense, and she can't even try to make sense of it. It's hurting her, too, so she puts up her shields - just a little - and waits until Obi-Wan reappears, ashen and trembling slightly.

"What's wrong?" she demands immediately, putting herself between Obi-Wan and any kind of retreat from her question. "What did Omega do to him?"

Obi-Wan sighs, runs a hand over his beard and through his hair, dislodging the usually pristinely-combed strands, making him look slightly disheveled and much younger and more human than he normally does. "I think it's time we had a talk, Ahsoka," he says after a long moment, voice tight.

He leads her to the sparse sleeping chamber; two bunks and an alcoved desk, little else. She perches on one of the bunks and he takes the chair, weary in a way she's never seen. "Granta Omega is the son of Xanatos du Crion," he explains, "who was my Master's apprentice before me. Without belaboring the point, Xanatos left the Order in disgrace, and swore revenge upon Qui-Gon. His son, then, swore revenge upon... well... me." The guilt weighs heavy in his voice as he continues, Ahsoka leaning forward in rapt attention. "He took an interest in Anakin when he was still my Padawan, and I had thought..." A sigh. "I had thought I'd killed him."

Ahsoka furrows her brow slightly. None of this sounds remotely hopeful; Anakin and Obi-Wan have many enemies, but this sounds much more personal than any of those. "Granta Omega deals in torture of the most heinous nature, purely for the fun of it. He..." And here Obi-Wan closes his eyes, and lowers his head. "Anakin has been..."

She can guess. She saw the blood on his legs, the dehumanizing nudity, the bite marks on Anakin's wrist from his own teeth. She doesn't make Obi-Wan say it. "I know," she offers.

Obi-Wan looks only mildly surprised by the admission, but nods slightly. "Omega also has a predilection for utilizing mind altering chemicals. The last time..." Another deep breath. "Very dangerous, and highly addictive both physically and mentally. The combination of torture and the drugs makes his victim..." She notices that he doesn't say 'Anakin', that he is distancing himself from the situation. She doesn't comment. "Well... it makes it so he is able to maintain a high level of control."

Ahsoka shifts uncomfortably. "But Anakin will be okay, right?" she asks, prodding, trying to keep the desperation from leeching into her voice. Of course he will be, he has to be.

"I honestly don't know."

The words are like a punch to the chest, and Ahsoka draws in on herself, the uncertain future looming ahead of her like a great weight.

* * *

Captain Rex considers himself fairly unflappable. After serving as the 501st's second in command (besides Commander Tano, of course) for the past year and a half, he mistakenly thought he'd be prepared for anything. He is not, however, prepared to see his General writhing in agony on a medbay cot, arms strapped to the rails, screaming whenever anyone comes near him.

To Rex and the rest of the 501st, Skywalker is a rock. He leads from the front, commands - and earns - their unwavering loyalty and gives it back to them in return. He is the greatest soldier Rex has ever had the pleasure of knowing, and nothing has ever slowed him down. He doesn't even seem to recognize them, now.

Kix had told him that Skywalker had been drugged to the gills and tortured, which Rex supposes explains some of it, but there's more Kix - and General Kenobi and Commander Tano - aren't saying. Rex isn't used to being out of the loop; Skywalker believes in transparency with his men. It's a disconcerting feeling, and it only gets worse the closer they get to Coruscant because Rex isn't sure a few days with the Jedi Healers are going to give him his General back this time.

* * *

They keep saying they're landing at the Temple. Someone does - Omega? He's not sure anymore. Things are becoming a little more real, but the pain is making it hard to concentrate on what is truth and what is the product of his fevered imagination. He pleads for relief, though none comes, even with his promises of what he can do to make it worth their while.

Kix - or Omega in Kix's skin - pushes him down again. "That's unnecessary, Sir," he says, doing an excellent job of sounding horrified by Anakin's attempts at some kind of seduction. "Please stop." He's beginning to think maybe all of this is really happening, because surely Omega would have taken him up on the offer by now.

The idea that this IS real, and that his men are witness to his utter degradation, makes Anakin's gut clench. Still, he can't quite stop himself from his reactions, from the violent shivers and desperation. And the fact the Jedi Healers - if that is truly where they are heading - will see this as well, will hold sway over him and his freedom just as much as Omega - makes him quite literally vomit. He wants to go home, but he's terrified of it.

* * *

Kix cleans vomit off the General's chin, careful to avoid the healing bruises as much as he can. Skywalker's face is flushed, though from fever or shame Kix isn't sure. Knowing the man, he'd wager a combination of both because it's not just the puke Kix has been cleaning up; Skywalker has lost control over most of his bodily functions as infection and withdrawal keep his nervous system otherwise occupied. Kix would feel better if he were able to properly medicate Skywalker, but with the tox screens still coming back positive, he can't risk it; he can't even get a proper read on what's working its way out of Skywalker's system, though whatever it is is all sorts of nasty.

"We're docking at the Temple now," he informs Skywalker, checking vital signs, making sure he's at least stable enough to move. He is, but barely. A bacta tank will definitely be on the agenda in the coming days, and Kix sure hopes the Jedi Healers can make some sense of what seem to be deep routed hallucinations.

Skywalker tugs at the restraints again, moaning. "No, please no," he begs, though Kix couldn't say why. Embarrassment? Fear? The belief that perhaps none of this is really happening? "Don't wanna..." Skywalker gags and Kix shoves a basin under his mouth to catch the bile that comes up.

There's a jolt as the shuttle lands and Kix starts to switch the monitors and other devices to their portable modes. "It'll be better for you there, Sir," he explains, though trying to talk sense into the man has been like talking to a brick wall.

"NOT better," Skywalker snaps, flicking his fingers in frustration. "I hate you!"

Kix sighs and continues his work in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Being home isn't a solution.**

 **Thank you for the comments! They are always appreciated.**

* * *

Ahsoka peers through the frosted glass window of her Master's room in the Halls of Healing, trying to get even just a glimpse of him. She knows he came out of the bacta tank today, Obi-Wan had told her that much, at least. Still, she hasn't been allowed to visit, and has been told in no uncertain terms by Vokara Che that her presence is unnecessary. Well, Anakin is her Master, so she's pretty sure her presence is very necessary. Why is Anakin allowed to hang around here when Obi-Wan is sick or injured and she isn't?

The door slides open and Ahsoka jumps away, not wanting another lecture on attachment. Instead of Vokara Che, though, it's Obi-Wan, lips pressed together, arms folded in the sleeves of his cloak. "I suppose it's pointless to try and keep you away," he comments.

She nods once, crisply. She is her Master's Padawan, after all. "How is he?" she asks, edging towards the door and trying not to be obvious about it.

"Physically he's fine. The bacta did its job." Obi-Wan folds himself into his cloak a bit more and adds, "Mentally, he has some ways to go. The Mind Healers say they should be able to help, though." He doesn't sound confident. "Ahsoka... The reason you haven't been allowed to see him..." A hand appears from the fabric to rub his beard. "He isn't entirely in touch with reality, and some of what he is saying may be disturbing for you to hear."

She squares her shoulders and juts her chin up. "It's okay," she proclaims. "I need to be with him." Just as he would be there for her, or Obi-Wan, or anyone else he cares about.

Obi-Wan sighs, but gestures towards the door. "He's not himself. Just... remember that." He sounds hesitant, concerned, but Ahsoka assumes he also knows she's not exactly planning on going anywhere. "I have to meet with the Council, but if you need anything..."

She nods again, and scurries into the room.

Anakin is alone in the room when Ahsoka enters. He looks up at her, offers half a wary smile. "Snips." His voice is incredibly hoarse, barely a strained whisper, but the fact he makes the effort tells her that maybe Obi-Wan is wrong about him not being himself. So far, he seems very much like Anakin always has been.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, perching on the chair beside him, brushing her fingers gently across the back of his hand. The muscles there jerk and twitch, but he doesn't pull away as she'd almost expected him to.

He gives a one-shouldered shrug, the off-white tunic he's been given to wear slipping down a bit to expose the sharp jut of collarbone that hadn't been quite as extreme the last time she'd seen him. "Okay," he croaks, but she still can't quite feel him in the Force and she's not entirely certain he's telling her the truth. Still, he doesn't seem different - just like he'd been rescued after multiple months of torture. "Thanks. For coming after me." He reaches up and tugs at a strand of his hair - okay, that's a new gesture, but she'd been expected so much worse; a new nervous habit hardly seems like the worst that could have come of things. "I'm sorry you had to, uh, see what you saw." Which means he knows she knows about the rape, at least. Or maybe he just means having to see him in the aftermath of a suicide attempt - his left wrist is still bandaged, which means either the wound hasn't fully healed, or the Healers don't want him seeing the scar yet.

"I'm just glad you're back," Ahsoka replies instead of addressing any one thing she's seen directly. She's very glad he's back, in fact, so much so that she's afraid to admit it out loud because it absolutely reeks of attachment of a very dangerous kind. She wants to kill Omega for what he did, and that, she knows, is not the Jedi way. "Do you need anything?" She doesn't want to leave, wants to make herself useful - the room is almost entirely bare, surely he could use some kind of creature comforts for however long he's supposed to be cooped up.

He stares at her for a long moment and tugs at his hair again, twisting the strand around his finger and pulling, then moving onto a new strand. It makes him look twitchy, which is not something she's used to. "The cart in the hall," he rasps, "can you grab me what's in the top drawer?"

Ahsoka furrows her brow slightly, but nods, darting into the hall. The drawer he'd indicated is locked, which seems odd to her. If there's something he needs in here, there shouldn't be any reason for it to be locked. Waving a hand to dislodge the locking mechanism, Ahsoka feels her breath freeze in her chest when the drawer slides open.

Row after row of narcotic-filled syringes stare up at her and suddenly Ahsoka understands exactly what Obi-Wan had meant. It takes her a long moment to regain her bearings, the idea that Anakin had just lied to her - or at the very least asked her to be complicit in something harmful - makes bile rise in her throat. She closes the drawer, locks it once again, and takes a deep centering breath before returning to Anakin's room.

"I couldn't get it open," she says softly because she's not going to accuse him of anything and have him shut her out. "I'm sorry." Not sorry she's lying, but sorry that she has to lie at all. Sorry whatever has been done to him goes so deep beneath his surface that he'd ask such a thing of her so quickly.

Anakin's expression shifts slightly - he'd been looking somewhat eager, but that slides quickly into annoyance and he closes his eyes for a brief moment. "No big deal," he replies, as if it's the most normal thing in the galaxy. His eyes open again and he gives her a quick smile. "Thanks for trying."

The fact he doesn't realize she's lying says more to her than his actual response and she feels a chill run down her spine. Perching herself on the chair beside him, she tries to shake off her discomfort. He hasn't been back very long, and has only been fully conscious for a few hours. She can't be angry about this, can't allow herself to be disheartened. He's her Master, and her responsibility, and as long as they stick together they will weather this storm.

* * *

Obi-Wan doesn't come back to visit after the first day, but Anakin is okay with that. Obi-Wan brings with him memories best left buried deep, a promise of further pain. Because all that Omega does is for Obi-Wan's benefit, or so he'd been told, and Anakin is tired of being the bait.

He knows better than to vocalize any of this, to the Mind Healers who have tried to get past his shields, or to Ahsoka who dutifully keeps him company hour after hour. He doesn't ask her to fetch anything for him again; it was unfair to do it the first time around, and the last thing he wants is to make things harder on himself. Still, the desire is there, prickling his skin and making him edgy, making him snap at her when he doesn't mean to, making him almost reach out to offer her what he KNOWS he really shouldn't (she's so young, and his Padawan! But hadn't he entertained fantasies of his Master at her age?).

Still, he makes a show of getting better, because the longer he's in the Halls of Healing, the less peace he's able to find within himself. He's growing agitated and fearful and he needs to simply get out from confinement. He's been confined for far too long.

Ahsoka picks up on his moods, perceptive as she is, and petitions to have him released into her care. She promises to keep an eye on him, as if he's not an adult and her Master and capable of taking care of himself - he knows she disagrees with the Healers about his capabilities, and that gives him a sense of relief. At least one person around here isn't treating him like a fragile piece of glass. Finally, the release is granted and he's back in his own apartment, staring at walls that are at once familiar and completely foreign.

"I made tea," Ahsoka's voice cuts through, and he follows her to the sitting area. He knows he has to have medications in here somewhere, kriff, even some crap Alderaanian grass would be welcome at this point, anything to temper the voice in his head telling him that Omega escaped, and nothing he or Obi-Wan or Ahsoka could do will ever keep him truly safe. The same voice admonishes him for being a coward in the same breath, and it's all he can do to keep from screaming.

Her hand on his arm does make him jump slightly, but he manages to slow his breathing, sit with her. Focus on the here and now, he reminds himself harshly. Focus on Ahsoka. Focus on getting back to her training. "I hope you haven't been getting lazy with me gone," he comments as she pours the tea.

She snorts. "Hardly," she snips back. "Though I'm pretty sure you're going to need some practice in the training salles." It's a cheeky retort, one he'd expected, and one that's likely very true. He doesn't want to take her up on the obvious offer, though, not just yet.

"Probably," he agrees, and leaves it at that. The silence that descends is comfortable, but the insistent voices that take its place moments later are not. Anakin fights through it, feeling altogether isolated despite the presence beside him.

'Should have tried harder to die,' the voice informs him, and Anakin stands abruptly, blinking. Ahsoka is at his side in an instant, asking if he is all right and all he can say is, "I'm fine. I need to go for a walk. Clear my head."

He hopes she won't follow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Anakin struggles, Ahsoka worries, and Rex doesn't completely know what's going on.**

 **Thank you for all the comments!**

* * *

Ahsoka gives him a five-minute head start and then runs to catch up with him. There's a nagging sense of wrongness in his statement about wanting to clear his head, and she's not exactly keen on letting him wander around alone so soon after his return. It's not that she doesn't trust him, but with Obi-Wan gone, he's kind of her responsibility.

She catches up with him at the main doors of the Temple. He's just standing there, clenching and unclenching his fists, grinding his teeth, but otherwise not moving. "Skyguy?" she prompts, reaching out to put a hand on his arm, and he jumps away from her with a sharp intake of breath.

"I'm sorry," Anakin says immediately, and she can see every muscle in his body quivering with the adrenaline response. "I... should have sensed you coming." He doesn't protest her presence, which is somewhat unexpected, but his voice is tinged with deep regret.

Ahsoka shrugs nonchalantly; she can tell Anakin doesn't want anyone making a big deal out of his reactions to things. She's seen it in the Halls of Healing, the way his expression darkened whenever the Mind Healers posited reasons, or suggested solutions. She knows her Master: in his mind, he should be well again immediately, and doesn't like any reminder that he isn't.

Well, fine. She'll play that for now. "Want to go to the gardens?" she asks instead of commenting on his statement. He likes the gardens, she knows, goes there sometimes when

* * *

he bothers staying around the Temple when they're on Coruscant.

It takes a long moment, but he nods. "Yeah. Sure." She can sense the effort it takes for him to agree, and can't help wondering where he'd been planning on going instead. The more hopeful part of her assumes it would have been to see Senator Amidala; the part of her that remembers his request of her the first day he was out of the bacta senses an altogether different motive.

She follows behind him half a pace as they make their way towards the gardens; private, secluded, and fairly empty most of the time - and today is no different. She settles onto the ground beside one of the squat trees, and after a moment he joins her. "We could try meditating?" she offers.

Again, whatever is going on inside Anakin's head shows as a tightening of his expression. "Doubt I've gotten any better at it," he comments. It's meant to be a joke, but the tone is flat. Still, they arrange themselves into the traditional posture, kneeling across from one another, hands resting lightly on their thighs. She watches Anakin close his eyes and take a deep breath, then allows herself to sink into the Force, reaching out for his presence within it.

It's usually so easy; he burns like the brightest star within the Force, and is impossible to miss or ignore. Right now it feels like he's shielding himself, cloaking himself, and while he's still undeniably THERE, the vibrancy she's so used to is missing. Gently, she tries to ease away some of the shielding, tries to chip away whatever is keeping him from her.

He withdraws so abruptly and violently that the psychic backlash gives her a headache. Her eyes snap open, thrown from the meditation entirely by his unexpected response. He's got his knees pulled up to his chest, head buried, shoulders heaving. "Master?" she asks hesitantly, not daring to reach out and touch him. "Master, are you all right?"

He's not, that much is clear, and when he raises his head she can see tear streaks, which he hastily moves to wipe away. "Fine," he chokes out. "I'm fine." He stands, brushing off invisible debris.

"Master!" she exclaims, springing to her feet, but he's already walking away. She supposes she should count herself lucky that he goes straight back to their quarters, but he locks himself up in his room and she doesn't see him for the rest of the day.

* * *

Sleep is elusive. It always has been, really, but now it slithers away from him like a shadow. When Anakin does manage to fall asleep, to escape the thoughts tumbling over one another in his head, he's almost immediately besieged by memories that make him tear awake screaming. He's always had nightmares, but these are worse: these are real. Hanging in the air by his own flesh, the freezing water baths, the violation. None of these are fabrications of his overactive imagination, all have left their indelible marks on him.

And that, then, is the crux of the problem: that he is still burning where the marks touched him, that he hasn't recovered mentally the way he has physically, that jumping at shadows has become part and parcel of his day to day life now. And he hates it, every second of it, because he's Anakin kriffing Skywalker, the Hero With No Fear, and he KNOWS he's better than this. He knows he should be able to just go back to life before his capture, banish any memory of it to the back of his mind, because he's a Jedi and he can't be a Jedi if he can't function.

Ahsoka sticks close to him, either out of worry or pity he's not sure. She doesn't treat him much differently than she did before, and he's grateful for that, but he wonders if she realizes just how Not Right he is now.

It's this thought that has him lying awake now, staring at the ceiling, cringing at the darkness, the expectation a hand will reach out and grab him keeping his nerves alight. He knows exactly what will cure the fears, what will make him - if not completely normal, than at least able to feel like it... But he knows he can't - well, shouldn't - because he's already setting such a horrible example for Ahsoka, he's already failing as her Master, and he's not sure he can fix that. Fixing it would mean vocalizing what is wrong, and he isn't sure he can.

In fact, he knows he can't. "Kriff!" he exclaims, springing from his bed, pacing, raking hands through his hair. Everything feels wound too tightly; everything itches and aches and he KNOWS he can fix that part, at least... But he can't, he shouldn't, he can't expose Ahsoka to that, to fail her even worse than before.

But maybe Ahsoka doesn't need to know. Reaching out with the Force, he assured himself that she's asleep, and quietly pulls on his boots. Masking his presence as much as he can, he slips to the door, the guilt weighing down like the heaviest of cloaks.

No one stops him as he walks out of the Temple and into Coruscant's night.

* * *

79's is ostensibly, a location catering solely to Clones. Besides Kamino, it's the only other place in the Galaxy that Rex can think of where Clones are the majority. That's not to say civilians aren't allowed within the walls of the bar near the barracks, but with very rare exception, he'd never seen anyone's face here but his own.

Tonight is one of those rare exceptions, apparently. The face Rex sees is not a typical civilian, either - which makes it even more of an exception. Even those Clones who don't know him personally know him by sight - the Jedi robes and lightsaber on his hip dead giveaways regardless. General Skywalker waves off their confused salutes and heads directly towards the bar, taking up residence on a stool beside Rex.

"General," Rex greets him, a bit wary. The Jedi as a general rule didn't fraternize with the troops off the battlefield. Though Skywalker has always been a little more casual about things like that, even he has never been here before. That he is here, while they're all grounded until he's deemed fit for duty again, makes Rex a little uncomfortable for reasons he can't pinpoint.

Skywalker nods in acknowledgement and orders a Corellian spiced ale. Realizing Skywalker isn't in the mood to chat, Rex bites down on the urge to ask how he's doing. Kix and Coric are still being maddeningly tight-lipped about what they know, but Rex doubts he'll get more information directly from the source. They sit and drink in silence; Skywalker polishes off two ales and is on his third - this one with a whiskey chaser - before he finally speaks. "I'm going to be petitioning the Council to be released to active duty as soon as possible," he says.

Rex isn't sure what to say to that. He'll be glad to be back out in the fight, at least, and glad to know that doing so means his General has recovered enough to lead them once more. Still, there's a bone-weary exhaustion in Skywalker's eyes that suggests perhaps all is not as well as either of them might hope. "Good to hear, General," he decides to say. Rex wants to ask how he's feeling, if when they're back out in the field if things will seem normal again, because right now what they're doing here does not feel normal.

Skywalker merely nods again. When it becomes clear that he doesn't care if Rex is there or not, the clone captain excuses himself and heads over to where he can see Kix and Coric in a small group from the 501st. "Is that General Skywalker?" Kix asks, peering over Rex's shoulder.

"Yeah," Rex replies, glancing over as well. "Medical opinion?"

Kix and Coric glance at each other. "No medical reason he can't be here," Coric says. "You think there's a problem?"

Rex sighs. To speak like this of their commanding officer feels highly uncomfortable, but so was finding Skywalker with his wrist bitten open, unable to distinguish reality from fiction. "Dunno," he replies. "I've never seen him here before, that's all." They all watch as Skywalker flags down the bartender.

"There're some free seats over there," Kix points out. It's his way of suggesting they keep an eye on their General as a group; not confirming or denying that anything is out of the ordinary, just keeping alert, like they're supposed to.

Skywalker acknowledges them, but doesn't say much more. Despite it growing late, Rex doesn't want to leave until he does - and he can tell the others feel the same. Finally, Skywalker stands and counts out a considerable number of credits onto the bar. "Sorry for my intrusion," he says to Rex, voice surprisingly clear for as much as Rex had seen him drink. "I needed to get away from the Temple and..." He stops himself, and shrugs. "Anyway, I'll let you know how the Council meeting goes."

He's gone before any of them can respond.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Council makes a decision.**

 **Thank you so much** **for your kind comments. :)**

* * *

Ahsoka wakes up feeling groggy and disoriented. The first thing she does, though, as has become her custom each morning, is to reach out to sense her Master's presence within the apartment, to assure herself that he is still there. This morning he seems more muted than usual, but nonetheless still there.

It takes a shower to clear her head, but soon she's feeling more like herself and heads into the apartment's communal space to see if Anakin is up yet. He's never been much of a morning person, but lately he hasn't been sleeping at all; it's not unusual for him to be up before her now, sitting on the sofa and staring at nothing until she appears and they play at being a regular Master and Padawan team for a while. This morning, he's on the sofa but splayed out, boots on, head tilted to the side, mouth slightly open. He's snoring softly, and it's almost kind of adorable and if she didn't think he would kill her, she would take a holo of this moment. Instead, she covers him with a blanket, recognizing with a start the smell of whiskey on his breath. No wonder his boots were on.

She wants to wake him, to reassure herself that he's fine, he just went out for a drink - not entirely unheard of, and nothing to exactly be concerned about. But her mind keeps going back to the narcotics cart, his request, Obi-Wan's warnings about Granta Omega's tactics, and she's torn. She's been trying so hard to keep things on an even keel for him since his return; shaking him awake and demanding answers probably won't help matters. In the meantime, she can tell through the Force that he's merely asleep - not passed out or unconscious - and his breathing is steady. All is well, she tells herself. She'll ask when he's awake on his own accord and in the meantime... Well, he needs the sleep, however it came about.

"Talk to me, Master," she whispers to his still form. "I miss you."

* * *

Mace Windu isn't overly surprised to see Anakin Skywalker on the agenda for the day's Council meeting. The boy had been back from Telos for a little over two weeks, and out of the Halls of Healing for five days. Windu is merely surprised this hasn't come up sooner, knowing Skywalker as he does. "He's going to ask to go back into the field," he informs the rest of the Council, though he's sure it's pointless - they all know Skywalker too.

"Vokara Che has deemed him physically well," Ki Adi Mundi points out.

Physically well and mentally well are two different things, though. "She also says he still has work to do with the Mind Healers," he says. "And that he has not been attending those sessions." Windu almost can't blame the boy; he isn't fond of the Mind Healers himself. Still, emotional stability is necessary on the front lines, and while Skywalker skirts the edges of that at the best of times, Windu also knows how dangerous moving too quickly on this could be.

"Stubborn is Young Skywalker," Master Yoda offers thoughtfully. "Proud. His pride, wounded it is by his capture. Desire to turn things back to normal he does."

Again, Windu can't blame him. The reports from the Healers, from Padawan Tano, and from Obi-Wan, had been intensely troubling and disturbing. The Korun Master can only imagine what it must be like for Skywalker, who has never been skilled at releasing his emotions into the Force. "Then perhaps this should be a lesson in patience," Windu replies. "And in accepting help when it is offered." A lesson sorely needed.

Skywalker is sent for and is soon standing before them. He is shielding, but even so Windu can sense the turmoil, the discomfort. He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. "Masters," Skywalker says, giving them a slight bow. When he straightens, his expression shifts to one of confusion. "Where's Obi-Wan?" he asks.

Windu sighs; he's not thrilled that Kenobi had left without informing Skywalker of his mission, but the boy had still been in the Halls of Healing, half delusional, when the decision had been made. "He is currently on a mission," Windu says, leaving out the part where the mission is to track down, capture, or kill, Granta Omega by any means necessary.

Skywalker grunts. "Oh." Then his attention shifts again. "I'm here to request a return to active duty. I'm needed on the front lines, and I'm feeling fine now." The slight waver in his voice belies the truth of his words.

Windu leans back in his chair. When it becomes clear none of the rest of the assembled Council is planning to speak, he realizes that he must once again be the spokesman, the bearer of news Skywalker doesn't want to hear. "The Mind Healers have not yet cleared you for duty," he says. "Until then, you are to remain here and take advantage of their services."

Skywalker bristles, clenching his fists and jaw. "That's unfair!" he exclaims. "I'm fine!" As if having an outburst in the middle of the Council chambers proves anything.

Windu spears him with what he knows to be a very intimidating glare. Anakin Skywalker, however, has never been easy to intimidate and the boy glares back. "Made our decision the Council has," Yoda says finally, if only to break the impasse. "When release you the Healers do, return to the front lines you may."

Skywalker seems to make a great effort to keep from arguing. Instead he squares his shoulders and bows again. "Thank you for your time," he murmurs, almost but not quite stifling the edge of sarcasm. He's out the door again in a flurry of dark robes and once he's gone the air in the Council chambers doesn't feel quite as oppressive.

"We will need to monitor his progress," Windu says softly. There was something lurking there behind Skywalker's otherwise normal-seeming facade, and the last thing he wants is for this test, such as it is, to backfire.

The rest of the Council is in agreement, and the talk turns to other matters, Anakin Skywalker seemingly forgotten, at least for now.

* * *

By the time he returns to his quarters, Anakin is seething. How dare the Council! How DARE they! Maybe he should have explained himself better; nothing the Mind Healers can do would match the benefits of going back to the front lines. He feels alive there, and at the very least would be able to put his attention elsewhere. Ignoring Ahsoka's concerned look, he locks himself in his bedroom, hurling his lightsaber across the room and hearing it hit the wall with a satisfying clatter.

Anakin Skywalker doesn't like to show weakness, but he makes an exception this once and crouches down while he weeps.

* * *

"I want to try something."

Anakin jolts to awareness at the sensation of someone else in his room. The shadows are elongated, the edges dulled and unreal. A dream, then, maybe. The cold bite of something - several somethings - being pressed against his bare chest. "Leave me alone," he moans, because dream or reality he just wants to sleep.

"I don't think so, Anakin." It's Omega, and Anakin chokes out a protest because this can't be real. It can't be. He escaped - was rescued - isn't there anymore.

But what if all of that was a delusion, a hallucination, like he'd thought it was from the beginning. What if this is the truth, this game, this torment. A shiver runs down his spine, and he struggles to get away from the hands groping at his skin. "No."

Omega chuckles. "I want to see how well your training has worked," he explains, and the hands disappear for a moment. "These devices are set to monitor your heart rate. Go above a certain level, and..." A whirring noise and pain blossoms everywhere at once, electricity making his muscles spasm and clench. He thinks he hears himself screaming.

The pain subsides. "See?" Omega asks. Anakin nods helplessly, fighting his body to lower his heart rate, to calm his gasping breaths. A hand wraps around his cock and despite his efforts, the electricity flows again, unrelenting.

He screams, and screams, and screams.

"Master?" A voice now, through the agony. "Master!" Ahsoka's voice, but this can't be real. He doesn't know what is anymore, but she's shaking him and he can feel her hand through his tunic - he's clothed, then. This is real. The torture was a dreamed memory. He tells himself this, but he's not sure he believes it, even when he opens his eyes and sees her standing beside his bed, worrying her lower lip. "Master?"

He takes a moment to gather himself, mortified that he can feel sticky residue inside his pants. Is this it, then? Is this what he's destined to live with now? Memories that manifest themselves like reality, and torture that borders on forbidden pleasure? "I'm okay, Snips," he manages to grind out.

Her expression tells him she doesn't believe him. "Really?" she asks. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, calling his cloak to himself with the Force. He can't keep doing this, can't keep reliving those months over and over again, when the Council refuses to do the one thing - one useful thing - that will make it all go away.

He can make it go away. He doesn't want to, hates that he feels like this is the only option he has left, hates that Ahsoka is here to see his weakness. "Really," he replies firmly. "I'm going for a walk."

He hopes, this time, that she won't follow.


	7. Chapter 7

**Padme has always soothed him. Now shouldn't be any different, right?**

 **sorry for the delay! Life stuff is happening.**

 **Comments are appreciated.**

* * *

Padmé. Being with Padmé will be safe. She has always soothed him, her presence a needed balm. Of course being with Padmé will help, and he's not sure why he didn't think of it earlier. Anything to keep from giving in to the urges that threaten to overtake him at any moment, anything to keep him from feeling like he is going mad. Padmé will help.

Padmé... Is not home. He walks through her empty apartment, brushing his fingers over her things, breathing in her essence, trying to take comfort in the fact she WAS here, and will be again. Still, Threepio has no idea when she's supposed to be home, and there is only so far echoes of her existence will carry him.

He thinks about running himself a bath, but when his brain helpfully reminds him how easy it would be to drown himself in her deep tub he reconsiders. Instead he stands in her fresher, staring at a reflection he barely recognizes, until he catches sight of a container of tablets next to her face wash. He picks it up, turning it over in his hands, recognizing the contents as sleep aids. Exactly what he needs: sleep. He shakes a couple into his palm and swallows them dry.

He's not sure how long it will take the pills to work so he heads to the bedroom - their bedroom. Her lingering presence is strongest here, and he climbs into the bed he shares with her all too infrequently, pulling the covers tight around himself, not bothering to undress besides removing his boots.

The pills work quickly, and soon he's feeling the embrace of sleep tugging at him, beckoning. For a few long, agonizing, minutes he fights it - the last thing he wants is to get stuck in a nightmare he can't wake up from - but soon exhaustion and despondency win out, and his eyes close.

* * *

Threepio informs her she has a visitor the moment she steps into her apartment. Since said visitor is still here, Padmé knows it can only be one person. She tears into the bedroom only to find Anakin sleeping soundly in bed, chest rising and falling gently. She perches beside him and runs her fingers through his hair: her preferred method of unobtrusively waking him. He doesn't so much as stir. "Ani?" she whispers. Her heart is pounding with the excitement of seeing him, even if he's not awake. The Jedi - and the Chancellor's office - had been unexpectedly tight lipped about her husband's latest mission; all she knows is that he's been gone for months and no one seemed to have any idea where he'd gone.

She leans down and kisses his forehead. Anakin shifts slightly now, letting out a breathy moan, brow furrowing. Suddenly his arm flies out and manages to catch her right across the chest, nearly knocking her over, and Anakin is screaming, rolled tightly in on himself, pulling at his hair. "Anakin? Anakin!" She's seen him have nightmares before, but never like this. She shakes him, yelling his name, imploring him to wake up, and suddenly he's sitting upright, arms wrapped tightly around her, sobbing violently into her shoulder. "Anakin, shhh, what's wrong?" She hopes he is honest with her; he hides so much from so many people.

"Sorry," he gasps. "I'm sorry." He looks up at her with watery eyes. "Did I hurt you?" He sounds agonized.

Padmé shakes her head. "No," she assures him. "Anakin, talk to me, please?" Their marriage is built on lies to others, the last thing she wants is for distrust to spring up between them too.

Anakin shakes his head violently. "Just a nightmare," he replies. "This last mission was... it was rough. But I'm back, and I'm okay, and I'm sorry if I scared you."

"Tell me about it," she all but begs. He doesn't like to talk about the war when they're together, but he clearly has something on his mind.

He stands, paces away from her, raking a hand through his hair and pulling on individual strands nervously. "I can't," he mutters. "I can't talk about it." Whether because the Council has told him not to, or because he himself can't find the words, he doesn't clarify.

Realizing with a sharp sigh that she's not going to get any other information from him, she walks over to him, runs her hands down his back, embraces him and rests her cheek against his chest. "Dinner?" she suggests and he nods.

* * *

Dinner turns out to be a rather uncomfortable affair. Anakin doesn't speak much, and drinks far more wine than she is used to him doing. Still, it's just good to see him again, to spend time with him, to know he is alive and relatively well. Once dinner is over, they head back to the bedroom. Almost as an afterthought she asks if he needs anything to help him sleep; her own medic had prescribed sleep aids several weeks prior as she's found herself lying awake night after night in fear for Anakin - and the Republic's - safety. She can certainly spare some if it will help.

He screws up his face a bit, but accepts and washes them down with the last of the wine. She frowns, but can't judge. She's done the same, and something is clearly troubling him greatly. She decides that the first thing she does in the morning will be to call Ahsoka; she's not going to stand by and do nothing while the man she loves suffers. She just hopes Anakin will accept the help.

* * *

The realization that even being with Padmé doesn't help feels like a cold hand wrapping around his insides and squeezing. He couldn't even bear to allow her to touch him; why would she want to, after everything that has been done to him? That he was complicit in being done to him. If she knew... But she doesn't know, he's sure of it. Still, her hand and Omega's hand blend together and he jerks away from her as she tries to caress him awake the next morning.

She looks hurt, and that hurts too - he can't even keep himself from lashing out at the people he loves anymore because he has no idea what's real and what isn't. Pathetic. He wants to disappear into her soft sheets and never emerge; he wants to throw himself from her balcony. He wants the Galaxy to come to a screeching halt and turn back to before this all happened because if he can't use the war to fix himself, if he can't lose the trauma amidst the kind of trauma he can DEAL WITH, he's not sure what to do.

Except he does. It's the answer that has been beckoning since his first day out of the bacta tank, the answer that had provided the only relief when he was actually in Omega's clutches. The answer he KNOWS is a product of Omega's twisted games, but an answer that nonetheless is his last hope of regaining himself. He'll just do it for a little while, just to help him get back to feeling like himself again, then he'll stop. Easy, and no one would ever have to know.

He's feeling almost better by the time he's able to get out of bed, a plan firmly fixed in his mind, now. It's a good plan, foolproof, and he kisses Padmé goodbye gently, and tells her he has to report to the Council. What's one more lie in the grand scheme of things anyway. She sounds wary when she replies, saying she loves him, asking him to come back to her soon, to stay safe. He agrees readily, because soon he'll be her husband again, and will be safe from himself if nothing else.

He heads not to the Temple, but to the Orange district. He's not overly familiar with what to do in this particular situation; though he's not a stranger to mind altering substances, he's never truly sought them out in such a manner. It doesn't help that he's easily recognizable and soon he figures that the Orange district is still too close to the surface, too close to the Temple. He goes lower, where natural light does not penetrate, where it's harder to make out his features, and where beings don't ask as many questions.

He doesn't know what to ask for, exactly. Glitterstim is out; it enhances the user's Force connection and that's the last thing he wants. Death sticks are a maybe - lower Force sensitivity, but he's not sure he likes the idea of taking years off his life span with each dose. He kind of wishes there was some kind of manual for this sort of thing, an instruction guide, anything. He thinks back to the few times outside of Omega's machinations that he's used hard drugs: Alderaanian grass doesn't count. Pyrepenol, maybe, he thinks because it's one he remembers the name of and remembers just how amazing he'd felt for the time it had lasted - he'd been a Padawan, then, freshly rescued from Omega and aching for relief. It had helped, until he hadn't needed it anymore, and that's what it will do for him now.

He hands over a sizable amount of currency to get a fair-looking supply, and heads back to the Temple and the peace he hopes will come next.


End file.
